


Maybe I Hate You (Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours)

by darlingjegulus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Drunkenness, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Female Reader, Hand Jobs, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, Hook-Up, House Party, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Party, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Sexual Relationship, Underage Drinking, my holden fancast is young cillian murphy do with that what you will, this has a pretty loose connection to hp but he's an hp oc soo uhh fuck it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:08:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27399997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingjegulus/pseuds/darlingjegulus
Summary: Holden Edevane and [Y/N] have hated each other as long as they could remember.Drunken encounters only helped them to see how good the sex was.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader
Kudos: 18





	Maybe I Hate You (Maybe I Just Wanna Be Yours)

It started with a party.  
Hogwarts had them all the time. Or at least, the Slytherins had the more exciting ones. Someone always managed to finesse some alcohol, the strong kind, the kind bound to leave a lasting impression. Firewhiskey was more often than not the drink of choice, perhaps a shade predictable, pathetically effective. The method of acquisition was a thing of harmless contention. One of the more widely accepted rumors was that one of the seventh years would spend hours flirting with Madam Rosmerta to win some bottles of the beverage over. Some people went as far as to joke around and say that he even slept with her; those with a sliver of sensibility knew better than to believe such folly. Rosmerta was a stunningly gorgeous woman, but even she wasn’t worth the mess that act would cause. Slytherins were not synonymous with the word stupid. They did what they had to do in the most skilled way possible, the most time-efficient. A handsome boy charming an attractive barmaid seemed so simple. It always worked.

They filled the common room, small stereos rested on the tables, playing the best wizarding radio station around, providing the students with the perfect background. A surplus of alcohol was available to everyone, the bottles found in every corner, stockpiled over weeks in preparation for an event like this. Some of the partygoers used glasses, others drank straight from the source. Within an hour or so, almost all in the general vicinity were drunk or approaching that degree. Girls lounged around, resting their heads in one another’s laps, smiling like pretty little fools, teetering on being seen as unattractive. They had dazed looks in their eyes, mouths constantly hung open, giving them the appearance of either confusion or lazy bewilderment. Boys hung around the tables or leaned up against walls, having meaningless conversations, most of which consisted of derisive comments towards the mentally inhibited girls, pointing out just how ridiculous they looked. It likely would have been an embarrassing affair to intrude on, watching a horde of zombies try to function like normal humans. 

Holden Edevane and [Y/N] were different from the rest.  
For starters, he would never drink straight from the bottle. One would only ever see him with a glass in his right hand, sipping at it tastefully, preserving a distinguished reputation. Getting horribly drunk was never the intention, if anything, it was meant to be avoided. Holden liked to reach a level of perfect balance, just enough to dull his senses but little enough to maintain his wits and intelligence. He was often found at the tables, surrounded by a few close companions, most of whom became so intoxicated that normal discussions were totally out of the question. So, Holden watched others. 

[Y/N] subscribed to a similar branch of logic that Holden did. She was smart, more than anyone else in the room, at least, something she considered to be true. It did not help that she did not trust most of the boys in the room. All it would take was one glass too much and she could become their plaything, their object of mockery. It was decided that that embarrassment was less than ideal. So for different reasons, the pair both sought that delectable balance, and they achieved it. 

It should be noted, of course, that Holden Edevane and [Y/N] despised each other. And neither tried to hide that fact, not in the slightest. Eye rolls in class were not hidden, sideways glances of malicious intent were never disguised as something else. Their rivalry had existed for years, since their initial meeting back in first year. Little things about the other bothered them, and that annoyance festered into all-out animosity. In their youth, it had been petty observances of character traits, deemed intolerable by their eleven-year-old brains. Holden hated her voice, the way she talked, the face she made whenever a question was answered correctly in class. [Y/N] loathed the smug grin on his face when he was with his band of friends, all of whom also qualified for her disliking. She scoffed whenever he fixed his hair during breakfast, gagged whenever he was witnessed attempting to flirt, even at such a young age. These grievances manifested in something greater, self-proclaimed atrocities of a more profound persuasion. He found her to be dreadfully pretentious, with a holier-than-thou attitude towards herself and an incessant desire to be the best in the room. She thought him to be an egotistical prick, too occupied with his own problems and appearance to give a damn about another person, a real selfish asshole. 

On this particular night, [Y/N] got more careless. She drank a glass or two more than usual, letting loose, indulging in the burning sensation associated so closely with Firewhiskey. Mental capabilities were still there; the one thing most impacted was the attitude in good decision-making. 

Holden drank around his average, a couple of glasses, maybe three, four if he felt like taking a calculated risk. The routine remained consistent, admiring people from the safety of his table. One person in particular caught his eyes. [Y/N] was more drunk than expected, placed on a sofa by herself, a change of pace that caught Holden off guard. His skills in observance were unmatched, unparalleled, by anyone else in the room. The drinking habits of every attendee were taken note of, used in the formulation of a pattern, a standard to hold people by. So, when [Y/N] deviated from this standard, interest was piqued.

He stood up, setting the alcohol aside, assuming it would be stolen by one of his inebriated companions, not really caring if that was a reality. The spot beside her was filled, and, in a move met with amused surprise, no reaction arose, no cursing or berating. [Y/N] noticed Holden’s presence, gave one look over his features, and returned to the nearly empty glass held, rather precariously, between her fingers. His intention in joining her would not bring him shame; she was so much easier to make fun of tonight, insults could come with minimal effort. 

A hand reached over to snatch the glass from her hand. Eyes examined its capacity, noticing how much had already been consumed.  
“What, did you get tired of judging everyone like the conceited bitch you are?”

His tone is nasty, lips curling up into a smirk, so sure of his victory. It was satisfying, to get those lashes in without receiving any back. [Y/N] had rendered herself a punching bag this evening, and Holden would bask in the glow of that opportunity. 

She looked back at him, and at that moment, her mind no longer associates him with all the rude interactions and disgruntled remarks. She sees just how gorgeous he was. Partially blinded by the alcohol pooling in her veins, it becomes apparent just why he was so self-absorbed. Light brown hair, cool-toned, not neat and not messy, so soft looking. Skin, so smooth and perfect, like something out of a magazine, out of a museum exhibit, to be protected and taken care of, refusing to allow any harm to come to such a beautiful canvas. Above anything else, [Y/N] caught sight of his eyes. They were the single most beautiful eyes she had ever seen. A light blue hue, the visual replica of the clearest ocean, so bright and vivid it felt unfathomable. 

“So wasted you can’t even answer. I’d be impressed if it wasn’t so pathetic.”  
She didn’t even listen to the words, no matter how cruel. On a good day, she’d be saying something just as wicked, if not worse, right back at him.

Through slurred speech, she manages to reply, “Shut up, asshole.”

And she kisses him. It’s not an innocent kiss, either. [Y/N] presses her lips against Holden so hard that he gets pushed into the back of the sofa. His hands stay where they are for a short period of time, frozen out of shock. It is an anomaly, even to someone as personable and observant as he, that he not only allows this to happen but seems to welcome it. 

[Y/N] pushes off with all the strength she can manage, shifting her legs to straddle his lap, getting closer than they had ever been before. Her hands move to invade his hair, fingers tightening around bundles of it. An earlier prediction is confirmed to be true; his hair is very soft, such a pleasant thing to hold. She bites at his lower lip, savoring how he tasted, consenting to the trick her mind was playing on her, convincing her that this boy was someone she even remotely wanted to be associated with, let alone being seen kissing with such fervor, such uncontrollable desire. 

His hands shift to her waist, pulling her in closer, losing himself in the act, recognizing this as merely kissing an extraordinarily attractive girl, because as much as he hated her, it must be admitted that she was stunning, with prepossessing features, a charming face, something appealing to look at. And better yet, she wasn’t speaking. No vexatious words were pouring out of her mouth, an organ that was much too preoccupied with being stitched to his own. Those beautiful eyes closed and Holden just enjoyed the feeling he was experiencing, just entertained by a pretty face, severing its ties with such a wretched personality. 

People told them both about what had happened the next day.

[Y/N] didn’t entirely believe them.

Holden threatened to punch who joked about spreading it around Hogwarts. 

[Y/N] and Holden spent the rest of their time at Hogwarts ignoring each other, trying their best to forget that any mortifying indiscretion had taken place. They returned to hating each other, reverting back to the way it had always been. If anything, the unfortunate memory increased tensions, highlighted every problem they had with the other, and heightened it, causing further clashing between personalities. So much bitterness laced the air when the two were forced to share a room. God, they made all those near miserable, enveloped in this battle, more than ever before.

Graduation should have been the end of their time together. They both certainly hoped so. And why shouldn’t they? The influence was horrible, bringing out the absolute worst, ruining any good moment whenever contact was made.

Fate was always a clever little thing. 

An old schoolmate invited a group of alumni to attend a reunion party at their house, serving as one last celebration before all of them were expected to grow up and move on from their old ways. It had been five years since Holden and [Y/N] had seen each other, and not much more than when they had even thought of one another last. Forgetting about the person you hate most was always a good idea. 

Things had changed in those five years. [Y/N] had found a job at the ministry, in a position that gave them the chance to do what they knew they loved, looking down at people and assuming, often being right, that she was the smartest in the room. It had always been one of the things that bothered Holden most, the fact that in truth, [Y/N] had a valid reason to act so conceited and pretentious. She had the capability to match his wits; he did not like this in the slightest. So, naturally, he had to out-do her, create something for himself that was extraordinary, a phenomenon to be observed with awe. The moment Holden graduated from Hogwarts, he went to study theatre, training with the best actors the wizarding world had to offer. Hours were spent attempting to perfect his craft, surpassing the expectations of every mentor encountered. Five years of firm, dedicated effort had made him a force to be reckoned with.

Both arrived at the house in style. A dress code was loosely established, aligned somewhere around what would be expected for a more formal house party, acceptable as long as one looked put-together. They were Slytherin alumni after all; there was a reputation to uphold.

[Y/N] chooses a long sleeve black turtleneck top paired with denim pants of a dark blue variety. A simple belt presses the fabric closer to her chest, ensuring that nothing would fall out of place. She forgoes the application of makeup; that lovely face never needed it anyway, so unconventionally beautiful with or without cosmetic assistance. With all the smiling she intended to do that night, it was logically decided that she would need breathing room, nothing holding her back. To her, that meant a fresh face. 

Holden opts for something more elegant, yet still casual enough. He dresses in a standard white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, excess fabric tucked in to give a more clean-cut impression. On top of that, there is a black vest, tailored to have a close fit, hugging at his chest. He selects a blue tie and his usual black dress pants to accompany that choice, finalizing a look that breathes such effortless confidence into his aura, aided by the perpetual upward curve of his lips. Holden believed firmly in himself, a deep appreciation for the man that he had become, and that was expressed through this ensemble of charismatic perfection. 

For a while, Holden and [Y/N] neglect to notice the proximal presence of the other. Both were smart enough to deduce that interaction was inevitable; the hope was to prolong it or to cut the duration to the smallest fragment of time. Time is better spent speaking to other people, catching up with old friends with whom they had lost contact. Discussions included careers, relationships, even children, for some. The usual.

All the participants held glasses of alcohol, just as they had five years prior. This time, however, the alcohol had much greater diversification, a bar found to hold every kind of booze imaginable, ready to be chosen by the guests. There was wine for those wanting to look the classiest, beer for the men determined to get drunk as quickly and easily as possible. Gin, vodka, tequila, rum, you name it, and the bartender would provide.  
[Y/N] drinks a cherry brandy, needing something strong enough to induce lowered inhibitions but controlled enough to prevent herself from acting like an idiot. 

In a more uncharacteristic choice, Holden requests a vodka cocktail, containing cranberries that give the drink a pretty pink tone. He could hear the voices of his former classmates taunting him over it, joking at his expense.  
They were stupid, and quite frankly, not worth his time. 

Drinks are washed down and refills are politely ordered. That ideal balance is achieved with careful precision, allowing both [Y/N] and Holden to enjoy the tedious intricacies sewn into the grand tapestry that was a party. Boring conversation, less than tolerable music, guests that were more likable when ignored, all the details that make a person want to up and leave in an instant. Alcohol helped ease that discomfort. 

When Holden sees [Y/N], a quiet chuckle is forced out, along with a subtle shake of his head and a sarcastic eye roll. She looks good, too attractive for her own good. It frustrates him irrationally, this pestilent slice of irony. The world would be so cruel to make the prettiest woman in the room be his long-lasting enemy, a person tolerated for no more than a few seconds before words turn ugly and expressions go sour. And that superlative was accurate in his mind, though he hated to admit it; she was the most alluring girl there, the most striking. Maybe it was the vodka dulling his senses, ruining his perceptive skills, instilling notions within his mind that would never be there when unclouded. Or maybe she really did look like that to everyone else. Holden permits his eyes to wander over her figure, noticing how her top hugs her waist and chest so tightly, accentuating what he considered to be the best features a woman had. Another laugh squeezes itself out, the situation somehow humorous to him. 

She spots him, wearing that charming outfit and holding onto his drink, standing at the edge of a group conversation, listening but not speaking. Her reaction is quite similar to his. That man was undeniably handsome, exuding an energy that managed to speak to her. Kissing him in the common room was a memory not yet forgotten and one not soon to be either. [Y/N] had no regrets of those actions; he was a beautiful creature, who could blame the girl for choosing him as an object of desire? Holden was a certified asshole to her, but God, did he taste nice, with those soft lips of his having been more than eager to return that kiss. Firewhiskey made it easier to push past the hatred she felt for him. Cherry brandy was having a similar effect. An idea comes to mind. [Y/N] decides to approach.

“I knew you’d be here.”

That proclamation is met with an eyebrow raise and a voice dripping with sardonicism.  
“Sorry to disappoint, you must have been having so much fun without me.”

“Can you try and pretend not to be a prick for one night? Meet me out in the hallway.”  
A roguish grin appeared on her lips, staying there as she left him to quickly stroll over to their demanded rendezvous spot, an empty hallway. For some reason only self-explained by madness, Holden follows her, keeping his distance, not wanting anyone to know his destination, and the person associated with it.  
As soon as he comes around the corner, an arm darts out, pushing him against the wall, pinning him there. Lips find his own, with more aggression than what would be expected, instilling pressure between the two. [Y/N] grabs onto the collar of Holden’s shirt with her free hand, fingers just touching the skin behind it, feeling his collar bone protruding from within. She kisses him with desperation, a longing to hold these lips captive for hours, never wanting to release them from the company of her own. 

Once the initial shock wears away, in an event mirroring their first kiss, Holden relaxes and finds it in himself to press his lips back against hers, hands moving to grab at her torso, yanking her in closer. He is reminded of that couch in the common room, holding onto her waist there as they kissed, an odd thing for him of all people to become nostalgic about. 

This kiss is different from the previous one. For both of them. More craving, more longing, every touch filled with a sensation resembling lust. [Y/N] kisses him with hunger, as though she means to fully consume him whenever given the chance. Holden lets his hands get the best of him, grasping her with more forceful energy, telling her wordlessly that it was his wish for her body to stay right there, under his careful examination, his to appraise. 

[Y/N] bites down on his lip and pulls on it before releasing him, removing the arm pushed up against his chest, granting his freedom back.  
“Come home with me. I'd like to see if the rest of you is as good as that.”

She starts undoing his tie soon as they enter her room.  
The door is left open, no need to close it seeing as no other person resided there. It is a decently sized room, plenty of space surrounding the bed in the middle, the very thing calling out for attention, where these two young adults were waiting eagerly to find themselves. 

When that piece of fabric is discarded, shoes are kicked off, fingers move to undo each individual button of his vest and shirt, working rapidly, in a pace almost conveying annoyance, frustrated by the fact that there were so many layers preventing them from continuing. Holden helps her, working together to get through the tedious action as fast as possible. No sooner were those articles removed before hands were grabbing the bottom of the black turtleneck and tugging upward. The shirt clings to her body so well that the task proves difficult, requiring more physical exertion than anticipated. Holden has a cocky smile on his face as four hands worked to relieve [Y/N] of that shirt holding her in, grinning as it is finally removed, being rewarded for the effort by the sight of her chest. It was a cliche thing to admire, but in that moment he couldn't care less. Reaching behind her back, two digits locate the clasp of her bra and start undoing it, struggling for just a moment before the straps come tumbling away from her shoulders, fully exposing herself to him. 

They assist one another with their pants, Holden sliding her belt from the loops of her jeans, [Y/N] hurrying to unbutton and unzip, feeling just how intense of an erection he had built up already. His trousers fall to his ankles with enough of a pull, leaving them to be kicked off, creating a pile where the tie already resided. He reaches for the mechanisms of her jeans, intending to repeat the motions when [Y/N] slaps him away, taking steps backward.

“Just go get on the bed, I don’t need your help here.’’

Resisting the opportunity for a snarky comment regarding selfishness, Holden places himself on her bed, propping himself up with his arms, observing as [Y/N] starting to slip her jeans down her legs with such ferocity that she starts to lose balance, nearly knocking herself over.

“Easy, I’m not going anywhere. No need to kill yourself trying to get it over with.”

“I’d never let you get the satisfaction of knowing you caused my death. I’m sure you’d just  
that way too much.”  
The comment takes Holden by surprise. Yes, he found her to be a horrible, annoying person to speak to, but he would never take glee in her death. She assumed him to be some sociopathic lunatic, counting down the days before she disappeared off the face of the earth. That could not be further from the truth.

He chooses not to respond, opting to watch as the jeans finally come off, directly followed by her underwear. Discussion of death never acts as much of an aphrodisiac. The sight before him was a much better consumption of his headspace.

[Y/N] walks over to Holden, glancing at his waist, noticing that he hadn’t even bothered to take his boxers off, a fact that annoyed her slightly, a feeling that was concealed and suppressed successfully. Taking hold of the band keeping them close to his skin, she yanks them away, throwing them aside, witnessing his fully erect cock spring free. She climbs on top of the bed, holding herself up with her thigh muscles, clambering to straddle him, still hovering over the length below her.

Holden can’t help himself.  
“Impressed?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”  
She takes his cock in her hand and situates it to sit upward, in the ideal position for her. One look is given to his face, to those striking eyes, before she relaxes some of the tension in her thighs and lowers down, allowing his length to penetrate her, slowly at first. Both let out little noises of satisfaction. [Y/N] sighs, a small smile on her face, as he travels further inside her. Holden has a moan forced out of him, unprepared for the feeling that came from this contact, apparently expecting something different in its entirety, as if expecting the experience to be horrible from start to finish. 

His hands instantly move to her hips, thumbs resting on the bones jutting out, fingers trying to reach farther back on her skin, desiring to take hold of as much of [Y/N] as possible. His gaze can’t stay on her face, beautiful as it was, because seeing this girl naked, the person he loathed more than anyone else, was a bigger surprise than he could have predicted. Her body is mesmerizing, catching all the attention Holden had. [Y/N] notices this, how she had seemingly bewitched him and all his stereotypical male tendencies with the mere presence of her stripped body. She hadn’t even yet done anything, made no real movements, and she had him in her grasp. 

[Y/N] rests her hands onto his shoulders, pushing into him. Leaning forward, her back starts to arch, and her head tilts up. Hips start to move back and forth in gentle movements, starting the real encounter. She has no intention of keeping this pace; she just wants to test Holden, to see what he can handle. His fingers press further into her skin, carefully pulling her in closer, subtly demanding something more intense. 

He gets cocky.  
“I can’t lie . . I was expecting more.”

“Careful what you wish for.”  
There’s a cocky smirk on her face, bringing her eyes back to lock with his, seeming to burn a hole right through him, so determined and keen on her target. Just like before, Holden has to fight back a laugh, biting at his lip and giving a shake of the head. Fingernails act to puncture the soft skin attached to her hips, challenging [Y/N].  
“Go on, then. Show me what you can do.”

His words convince the girl that he is absolutely deserving of everything she has, all she has to offer. Stabilizing herself and ensuring the positioning is just perfect, she proceeds to rock her hips on a pendulum again, consistent timing on the direction changes. The speed is increased, adding more power behind every movement. [Y/N] brings herself back up to having straight posture, relying completely on the muscles of her legs to keep her going. Hands come to rest on top of his, forcing those nails further into her skin, providing somewhere to place her fingers. Every second passing causes her to bring a heightened passion to the approach, basking in the supreme ecstasy that came from the visceral feeling in her insides. Moans start coming out, soft sounds, unable to be held back any longer. 

Holden joins her, groaning as he releases his hands off her hips, sliding them up along her sides, stopping only when they reach her breasts, squeezing politely. It feels glorious, so wonderful to hold a woman as gorgeous as her like that. [Y/N] raises an eyebrow down at him, eyes full of welcomed surprise, gaining a drive to fuck him harder, to bring herself, by extension, a tremendous amount of pleasure.

She reaches and grabs his hands. For a moment, Holden looks at her with amused confusion. He resists the urge to tease her for it, despite how tempting and easy it would be. But this action has no romantic intentions. [Y/N] lifts his arms behind his head, pinning them down against the back of the pillow, her wrists leaned up to touch his, providing her with both a resting place and a method for keeping him in place. She looks right back at him once more and drives her hips forward in hard, aggressive motions, seeming almost intent on hurting him. Their bodies collide in such a combative manner that the pressure causes powerful skin-to-skin noises to erupt, demonstrating just how much enthusiasm could be found in her thrusts.

“Fuck, don’t stop.”  
Holden cries out, his hips flexing up slightly to meet with hers, desiring to push himself higher into the space between her legs, to explore more of her center. She reacts to this by this propelling harder into him.

Both of them are filling the air with their lustful sounds, moaning together, in mental unison for the first time in their lives, agreeing on one specific subject. Holden feels his heart racing, tempo crescendoing as if in a performance of a great concerto where he was the lead violinist, the object of audience attention. His audience consisted of just one hateful person, this girl who hated him so much that she was fucking him, a preposterous bought of clever mockery. Her lungs work hard to meet the demand of her efforts, quick breaths coming in and out of her. Sweat begins to pool on her forward, seeping into her hair. She had tied it back into a ponytail of a less than pristine style, and the movements she was launching towards Holden were only making it messier. 

“I hate how much I like your dick.” [Y/N] is breathless as she gifts him the twisted compliment, biting her lip as her back starts to arch as it started to before. 

He responds, struggling to get it out through moans, though still keeping the typical arrogant tone he used whenever conversing with her.  
“You’ll love it even more when it’s me giving it to you.”

That consideration interests her. During the party, when she had approached him, kissed him, and requested his company at her house, it was expected that such an event would be a one-time affair. Getting it out of her system, reaping all the benefits, and claiming none of the consequences. He was an attractive man, had been for years, and time had only been kind to him, turning him into a thing of genuine beauty, impossible to ignore. Now his words gave the impression that this ought to continue. Ten minutes ago, [Y/N] would have argued against it, demanded otherwise. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. He was a rude bastard when in each other’s company, but it would be a waste to let such a pretty face and phenomenal cock go out and fuck other people when she could have it as her own.  
So she silences any thoughts that come to mind, choosing to let out her feelings through sensual whimpers, expressing her content. 

Holden grows bored of his stationary presence, just laying there like a plank of wood, only allowed to watch, never to interact. He smiles at her, a charming and confident gleam, and breaks free of her grasp, flinging her hands off his arms. A different position is acquired by sitting up. Holden takes hold of her waist and pulls the both of them back, lower back then propped up by the pillows leaned against the headboard. [Y/N] is now closer to him than ever before, save for their heated kisses, a more intimate turn of events than expected. She was doing perfectly in the posture that was maintained before, but Holden preferred something more personal, even in his meaningless hook-ups. Arms come around her back, tugging that glorious body in close contact with his. [Y/N] takes a hand and grabs at the posterior portion of his neck, eventually sliding it around even more, permitting her limbs to hug around his shoulders. They form an embrace, a method to improve their experience. 

Unable to resist the temptation sitting mere inches away, Holden buries his face into her breasts, kissing the lower half before dragging his mouth across the sensitive skin and latching them onto her nipple. Teeth came down onto it, none too roughly, lips enveloping around the bud, sucking at it harshly. [Y/N] is overwhelmed, letting out more whimpers as he took care of the delicate area.  
“Holden ..” 

Hearing his name called out like that by her was amazing, incredible even. And, God, was it satisfying. This girl had been under the delusion that she owned him, that the prize in the middle of her thighs was enough to take control over him. She has been utterly wrong. Holden aimed to show that he had capabilities just as she did, the power to make her beg for more of him, feeding into his cocky nature. 

Releasing the clamp from the teeth, his tongue moved to flick all over her nipple, teasing [Y/N], acutely aware of just how tender the spot would be. It gets the intended reaction. Motivated by his mouth, she slams into him harder, fucking him with near-violent tendencies, shoving his length higher and higher yet. 

All presuppositions are suppressed on a mutual level. Holden was living up to the personality he assumed, with a cock as big and boisterous as his ego and a tactfulness surrounding his every move that brought out a surplus of excited whines. [Y/N] has a fury regarding the way her hips move, the absolute intensity she was bringing to this encounter. She always knows she’s good at what she does and takes pride in showing off those talents. It translated to the bedroom with ease. 

“I think I’m close.”  
He lifts off from her breast and looks up at her, chest rising and falling. A few more thrusts forward and she pushes off him, breathing heavily as she shifts down towards the foot of the bed. Holden is pushed back down to a horizontal position and [Y/N] lowers her head down. 

“Cum for me.”  
The words are delivered as an order as she descends onto his cock, lips taking hold of the tip, teasing Holden, drawing forth a few droplets of precum that are consumed eagerly. Her fingers move to stroke at the shaft, running up and down with passion, working hard to force an orgasm. Lips keep going lower and lower, taking in as much length as possible. Digits work with her mouth to form an impressive machine, so full of impeccable technique, designed to work flawlessly. She works at him with expertise, deliberate with how smoothly her tongue runs over his cock and how roughly her hands are tugging at him, never doubting her skill. 

[Y/N] brings her eyes up to meet with Holden’s, and it is just what he needs to finish. The visual of a stunning woman fixating on him with such seduction is one unmatched by many other sights in the world. Her bright optics are pleading with him to hand over what was requested, what was required. A feeling stirs within him, a feeling he recognized easily, one that was so very welcomed. It wouldn’t be long now as long as she just kept watching him like that. 

With a forceful groan, Holden reaches his peak, a culmination of their toils. Cum leaves his body and pours into her mouth, all of it taken in and swallowed. [Y/N] has a smile on her face as she rises up, taking one last good look at his beautiful eyes and tousled hair before standing up and walking halfway across the room, towards their pile of clothes.

Holden props himself up by the elbows, running fingers through his brunette locks, now tarnished by sweat just as is the case with his companion. His gaze follows her as she strolls over, preparing to redress. The image of her naked body is still addicting, drawing in all his attention. 

She ignores the clothes at first, traveling over to a large white dresser and opening the lowest drawer. From there, she retrieves a loose pair of black cotton shorts and a thin robe made of silk, an article of a mauve hue. The clothes are slid on with ease, a stark contrast to the outfit that she had arrived in this room wearing. Once fully dressed, the pile of clothes belonging to Holden is attended to, wadded up and collected up against her chest.

“Dressing so soon? Don’t you want to go for another?”  
Holden jokes, smirk stretching across his lips as he leans forward, cocking an eyebrow in her direction, egging her on, playfully daring her to defy him.

[Y/N] responds by throwing his entire outfit right into his face.  
“Fuck off. And get out. I’ll write to you soon enough.”

Holden received a note by owl just a week later. It was a simple message. Find her the next day. Return to her place. Engage in remarkably fantastic sex. As was expected.

He had scarcely reached the front entrance before he was dragged inside, the door slammed behind him. [Y/N] was already wearing only her robe, the same one from before, no shorts this time. He could see her cleavage inside and once again found his eyes wandering there. Perhaps that was immature, but when the girl refused to make conversation, little options for relatively innocent stimulation existed. 

He dressed much more casually for the occasion, an outfit consisting of jeans and a long sleeve shirt, strikingly similar to the one [Y/N] had been wearing at the reunion party. The choice was an easy one, stupidly obvious. Why bother putting on fancy clothes when they would be ripped off moments later?

[Y/N] starts her familiar journey over to the bedroom, not bothering to try and lead Holden along. She expects him to follow on his own, to be a mature adult, one not needing incessant hand-holding. The blood rushing through veins is coursing with excitement, a resemblance of arousal, signifying the outlook this woman held towards their newly formed union, a relationship characterized by sex and sex only, not needing anything more, let alone desiring it. Nobody would need to know about it either; it was better if all their friends and family were left in the dark. They would never understand it, only joke about their mutual hatred, and ask too many ridiculous questions. In reality, even Holden and [Y/N] were stunned by this development. Two young people setting aside their hatred temporarily in order to achieve a mind-blowing high, brought on by the best sex either of them had ever experienced. It was almost worth an eye roll, sounding like something derived straight from the mind of a teenage boy experiencing puberty. And yet, it worked so well, maybe a little better than they had hoped. [Y/N] had used Holden as an experiment and basked in the results. Alternatively, he saw an opportunity to fuck a pretty face, disguising the horror underneath. It got him off, and that was what was important. The whole charade was mutually beneficial. 

Once inside the room, the robe is shed and hung up with care, waiting patiently until the time comes for it to be worn another time. [Y/N] heads for her bed, relaxing down onto it. She assumes a position that can only be described as flirty, legs pulled close to her chest, arms spread out over the sheets, head tilted back to expose the skin on her neck, ripe for the taking. Holden stands watching her, feeling the tension in his pants growing as he stares. 

“You can take your own bloody pants off this time.”  
She gives him a brief glance, cool in tone, voice more indifferent than harsh. Though she was incredibly ready to once again feel him inside her, there was no way Holden would have the satisfaction of knowing that fact. His exuberant haughtiness was unbearable enough as it was; it certainly did not need assistance, especially when that assistance would come from her words. 

Holden lets out an obnoxious scoff before reaching to strip himself of the shirt.  
“Alright, alright,” He says as he works on the jeans, unbuttoning and sliding them down before adding, “I wasn’t planning on asking for your help anyway.”

With a casual saunter, he approaches her, stopping when beside her bed, just observing the spectacle before his eyes. He would not dare speak it aloud, but she so closely resembled an angel or even some woman from a famous painting, figure so supremely magnificent. Focus was spent on this body the first time he had slept with her, though he had failed to grow tired of seeing it in the flesh. Details were noticed this time, accentuated by the high vantage point he had over her now, giving way for a vivid imagination to take flight. Thighs, resting together, no gap between them, inviting him in to ease his head down between them, savoring the undeniable treasure that lies there. If she wanted him there, no qualms would be given, he would indulge in her natural form of dessert, tasting her. As he stood there he imagined his tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh, giving rise to screams of his name, calling out for mercy with no intention of actually craving it. He would continue, arms looped around those exquisite thighs, fingers gripping her skin. Breasts, only briefly explored during their first intimate contact, looking so desirable just sitting there attached to her chest. He wanted to take it a step further than he already had, taking special care of both of her glorious tits, kissing them and caressing them, generating more moans and pleas to continue, reaffirming that what he was doing was perfect. And even more, that neck of hers, exposed more now than ever prior, was calling out to him. He felt that his lips were destined to find their way to the tender skin there, biting down on it and sucking, fully intent on leaving marks, little reminders of who it was that put them there. Her neck would be bruised, rendered sore by all the attentiveness latched onto it, tolerant only to gentle kisses, a concept that Holden felt [Y/N] would never allow. That would bring him more happiness than it did her, defeating the purpose of their wordless agreement, violating a silent pact to pleasure each other equally. Their relationship rested on the idea that both benefited but one never triumphed over the other. Such a result would bring only annoyance and bitter feelings, ideas not suited for a happy arrangement.  
Regardless of all this, Holden kept his present thoughts solely on her faultless body. It was his, if only for a short time, but those minutes were an unforgettable experience, seen in his eyes as two pristine bodies colliding as one. 

The shorts holding his hardened cock back from freedom are at last shed, permitting both young lovers to be fully naked in the presence of the other, finally ready to begin the event that they reconvened for. As he climbs on top of her, preparing to make his first move, pondering takes place, debating between the three choices he had imagined just minutes before. The choice to him was an important one, a choice that would set the stage for how everything else went. 

Holden chooses an emphasis on her neck. It will act as his foreplay, preparing [Y/N] for what was to come, what she ought to be ready for.

“What are you waiting for?” She taunts, shooting a sarcastically puzzled look his way.

“Nothing. Just making you wait.”  
That comment earns a derisive snort and a petty laugh.

“Just get on with it, Edevane. Before I change my mind about you.”  
As if he had been given permission that had not existed before, he presses some weight down onto her, placing her body between his legs as he leans down and fastens his lips to her neck, on the area just below her jaw. It starts with seemingly innocent kisses traced along the extent of the skin there, dragging from underneath the chin all the way to the space beside her ear, taking a moment to nibble at the lobe before returning to the intended domain. He lowers down, finding flesh covering her throat, the kisses placed there losing most of their innocence, laced with passion. It is not, however, until he reaches the base of the neck, the land of opportunity, that the action coming from his lips becomes more aggressive. When a kiss lands, it is followed immediately by a bite, teeth pulling up on the fragile epidermis before beginning to suck at it. Holden spares nothing in the attempt to leave a few lovebites, tugging hard on the portion caught up in his mouth, pale complexion already starting the bruising process.

[Y/N] releases soft moans as he kisses her, eyes closing to lose herself in the sensation. One hand reaches to become tangled in his brunette locks, soft to the touch. Fingers massage hard at his scalp, prompted to do so by the intense feeling stationed at her neck, the feeling of the skin being beautifully damaged, skin transforming into a canvas where the only available colors are purple and blue. Reaching the free hand down underneath his body, she takes hold of his cock, digits curling around the shaft, taking command. Though the urge is to inundate him with fast-paced strokes veering on being painful, [Y/N] selects a slow speed, making up for the momentum drop by stressing strength instead. Holden furrows his brows as his cock is pleasured, unable to make another reaction without letting go of her neck, an option that he refuses to even consider. More kissing, biting, and sucking goes on. The goal is to leave all that skin unrecognizable from an earlier time, abused in the kindest way possible. Bruises will be put on display for the world to see should she choose not to cover them up. People would ask of their origin and her wits would be tested. Lies would be crafted and stories designed, offering an explanation that can manage to convince others. Holden acknowledges her intelligence; this could function as a way to prove his accuracy.

They continue like this, earning mutual gratification. [Y/N] retracts her hand soon after starting, not wanting to force an early ejaculation, as doubtful as the chance of that occurring was, just to ensure its impossibility. Holden relents when his head is lifted to examine the work, admiring how perfect and lovely those bruises looked as they formed, bringing stunning hues to the otherwise uniform skin. 

A pleased grin comes to his lips. The work [Y/N] exuded helped to bolster his erection, making him fully prepared to enter her, to dominate her, an act that had promised she would love in the middle of their last session. He sought to keep that promise.  
“Ready?”  
He asks with a smug smile, biting at his lip. 

“Been ready ever since last week. Give it to me already.”  
Shifting into place, Holden aligns his cock at the optimal angle, looking at her one more time, searching for approval. It comes in the form of a nod. With that out of the way, he at last pushes his length into her, slow upon entrance, testing the waters.

[Y/N] reacts instantly with a whimper, perhaps not expecting the intensity this variant position brought. He rests his forearms down onto the bed, producing a stabilizing point and an anchor for the thrusts he seeks to force into her. Legs come to wrap around his back, tightening to secure their place. Movements begin, rocking back and forth, going deep into her insides before pulling back out a short distance. The pace set by Holden here is chosen for one specific reason, and that is to see how much this girl craves it, how far she is willing to go to get what she wants. 

It works. [Y/N] prefers not to sound as though she is begging, but the desire has pooled up so deep within her mind and body that requesting more from him is an evil that she has to endure. It is obvious what he wants. He wants the very satisfaction that she always tries to deny him, he wants to have some teasing control over her.  
So, in this moment, she relinquishes her pride, in sacrifice for her hedonism.

With an unyielding stare, deep into his eyes, she utters one word, a demand.  
“Harder.”

The girl finds a way to make begging sound like a command, something only she would truly be capable of. Holden shows no disappointment at this. It mattered not how the word was said, only that it ever happened. That was all that was necessary to inspire action. 

Deeper thrusts are initiated, penetrating her with more ferocity. His fingers reach to touch her face, an approach that [Y/N] likely would have tried to slap away had she not been overcome with pleasure. A thumb runs repeatedly over her lips, pushing down on it hard, teasing her. She looks and lets out a breath before pecking at the tip with little kisses. The top portion is taken into her mouth, just barely sucking at it. Holden witnesses this and grins, filling with greed, empowered by her instigation. He pushes the rest of his finger in, allowing it to be fully engulfed. Teeth come down hard, accompanied by strong suction, giving off the impression that she would bite the digit off had she the ability. He chooses to interpret this differently, deriving great levels of enjoyment, having been bestowed the opportunity to explore her mouth, a great desire. As he touches her tongue, the thrusts coming from his hips become stronger, burrowing into the caverns within her body. Unable to make noise, the sensual enjoyment has to be expressed on her face, in her eyes. Eyebrows knit together and her cheeks start to hollow out, creating a tighter squeeze around his finger. No blinking comes from her eyes, which are intent on staring forward, scanning over him. The combination of those features is wonderful to behold. It seemed as though he had constantly reflected on what an attractive creature this girl was, unable to think of anything else. She just looked so pretty, taking possession of his hand so effortlessly.  
He wanted to see more. 

The thumb is pulled out, feeling her teeth graze its surface as it leaves her grasp. Hands leave her face and move to her legs. There, he takes hold of her thighs and pushes them forward with strength, forcing both away from the tight link they had formed around his back. All the while, his cock continues to infiltrate new depths. 

“What are you doing?” It is almost a relief to hear her voice again, a voice now characterized by its unsteady nature, powerless to prevent the inflections as she moves so rapidly, a result of the hard thrusts. 

“Improvising.”  
Her legs are arranged in a different way. Ankles become rested onto the top of his shoulders, directly beside his neck. Holden leans forward and forces her thighs to go out at a wider angle, making it so much easier to fuck her hard, as she wished. 

He crashes into her at a rapid pace now, catapulting his cock into her insides, hitting her in the perfect spot to invoke a fierce reaction. Hands find a place on her waist, tips of his fingers brushing at her sides, thumbs stretching out to touch the middle region of her stomach. They press into her abdomen, trying to feel just how far inside his length was reaching, whether it surpassed the normal distance, as if he was something more than a mere mortal, powerful enough to break human boundaries.

[Y/N] had those initial confusions, but they vanish quickly. The pure euphoria, the incredible delight building up as he fucked her was the best feeling ever experienced. In their first meeting, she had dominated him, ridden him with such passion, demonstrated just how skilled she was in the act of sex. But this was even greater than that. Loud moans poured from her mouth, breathless and exhausted, thoughts of his incredible rhythm and his exceptional power, pounding away at her, were saturating every drop in her bloodstream, every bone in her body. His thumbs push more and more into her soft stomach before looking right at her.

“You like that, baby?”  
Use of that pet name is completely unexpected, such a term of endearment commonly shared only amongst lovers. Sure, Holden and [Y/N] were lovers of sorts, but far from the romantic kind. She picks up on this and is less than pleased.

“Don’t call me that.”  
It’s almost a miracle that the words are even able to escape between all the impassioned whimpers; she toils to make the effort of speech. He finds it incredibly amusing, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so you’re okay with my dick being all the way up your pussy, but being called baby is too much for you?”

She grows offended by the slight degradation, unwilling to be spoken to like that, mocked as if the opinion was stupid, whether or not the teasing was malicious. An arm shoots out, taking hold of his face, digging fingernails in.  
“Don’t talk. Just fuck me, Holden. Fucking destroy the pussy you’re in, I dare you.”

Those words are not taken lightly.  
“You might regret that.”

“I promise that I won’t. Do it.”  
Holden, without warning, launches into an all-out attack, an ambush as an act of war, driving hard into her insides. He shows absolutely no mercy, hips acting like a slingshot, flinging all his might into the poor girl. Happiness could never begin to explain the emotion that was induced. It is a mixture of a million things all at once. Exhilaration comes from how perfect his cock feels, slamming into her, like nobody else could do it quite as well. There was pain, almost an unbearable amount, but somehow she enjoyed it, taking it as a performance of masochism. Her inner walls were so sore, aching with discomfort, and yet she only wanted more of it, for it to last forever. 

Holden shoves [Y/N] down, fucking her into the mattress, the outline of her body making imprints into that bed. He works so fast, resolving to finish strong, to reach an unforgettable high.

Low groans seep into the air from both parties. They become so in tune with one another, so in sync, racing quickly towards the collective goal, to an outstanding orgasm.  
“Fucking cum already, you asshole, cum.”

The grip on his face becomes weaker, loosening until it falls apart completely. [Y/N] braces her the release to arrive, lowering her head back onto the pillow, sinking down and relaxing. She reaches for the sheets beneath her, clutching onto them. With every new thrust from Holden, the pain tolerance lowers, being unable to handle this much longer.  
“Please, please, cum for me, I can’t take it anymore.”

Holden once more experiences the uncomfortable tension, though he chooses to hold onto it for much longer than he had the first time. It takes until the last feasible second before he yanks his cock out of her and knocks her legs away from his shoulders. Not a moment later, cum starts bursting out from his length, spewing out towards her. He helps himself in this manner, hand wrapping around and jerking, aiming to force every last drop out. The thick liquid lands onto [Y/N], covering her stomach, letting it pool up due to the sheer amount expelled out of his body. 

Jerking motions are not ceased until he is sure that all has been released. Eyes drift to her torso, observing the contrasting colors between the cum and her skin. Seeing that with the purple marks on her tender neck, Holden is assured that he is in fact an artist and that this painting was priceless, deserving of a spot in a museum. 

In the aftermath, [Y/N] can hardly move. Her entire lower half is throbbing, not necessarily in any bad connotation. The most she can muster up is taking a finger and dipping it into the ejaculatory display collected anteriorly. Smirk stretching across the left side of her lips, she brings that finger up to her mouth, tasting him, exaggerating the time past what was necessary to consume his cum and swallow it, feeling the bitter substance travel down her throat. 

Holden watches, licking his lips, trying hard to suppress another erection from forming.  
“If you keep doing that, I’ll have no choice but to come at you again.”

“Not a chance.” 

“You say that like you hated everything I just did.”

“Not all that, just you.”

Part of him wants to persist, to attempt to get a compliment out of her, any sliver of true appreciation. He chooses otherwise. Instinct told him it was best not to push her too far. He had ever stopped himself from doing so previously; this moment just felt different for some reason.

A look is given to her eyes, analyzing them again, searching for hidden emotions. Nothing recognizable comes up.

Steadily, their breathing returns to normal, heartbeats losing their excess momentum. Forearms rise to dab away the overabundance of sweat, attempting to hinder the irritation beginning to manifest onto more sensitive skin. 

Holden gets up and dresses, lacking much admiration for how unpleasant the clothes now feel on his body. Ignoring that, he finishes with the last of the buttons on his jeans and sends one final charismatic smile towards [Y/N].

One last chance to make fun of her presents itself.  
“I’ll let myself out. You probably couldn’t walk over here anyway.”

They meet up a couple more times in the following weeks. Each time starts the same; [Y/N] sends a straightforward note and he arrives at her house. Events following are variable, trying new positions, spending longer amounts of time together. The pair no longer sees the opposite partner as a completely intolerable mess. Her opinion hasn’t altered much from the one she formed over a decade earlier. She still finds great annoyance in his arrogance, his cocky demeanor, and his unnecessary loose interpretation of humor. Those grievances never cease to exist; [Y/N] only chooses to keep them more silent. Having him inside her is a feeling unparalleled elsewhere. She was willing to swallow her pride if it meant preserving the longevity of their relationship.

Holden doesn’t relate to that viewpoint. He no longer has to try to enjoy their experiences. It comes naturally. Smiles broke out more often, laughing whenever [Y/N] couldn’t hold back an insult or a snide comment. All of it was genuine, having a good time, living in the moment. 

This new development spurred an ironic twist. Though he was having an individually astounding time, there was something off about the sex. In some kind of warped predicament, Holden found amusement in their sarcastic banter, found joy in her responses to his playful teasing. That added excitement and an element of surprise; [Y/N] kept him on his toes, full of the unexpected. She now spent their time together just moaning, whimpering, and whining. The occasional scream if he truly knew what he was doing that particular evening. All sounds he loved hearing.

But it was different. He wanted the old way back.  
And Holden was bold enough to tell her that.

The next time he ends up in her bed feels routine. A contrast to all previous times occurs; when their bodies come together on top of the sheets, they’re still fully clothed. It was decided that today their foreplay would be a rigorous session of firm kisses, characterized by wandering hands and an inability to keep still. 

She places herself in his lap, bestriding him, fingers already wild in his hair. Eyes close as lips collide in a messy impact, striving to devour the other, hunger seemingly overtaking all rational thought. Their noses bump together, cartilaginous aspects bending to meet the demand provided by the increase in pressure. Lungs move in unification, stealing all the oxygen from the surrounding air, needing so much to maintain the energy behind their kiss.  
Holden rests his hands on her sides, holding her in an almost gentle way. He is the one leading this interaction, lips emphatically pressed to hers, pushing back just the right degree. He feels [Y/N] slip one palm underneath his shirt, traversing the skin there, bringing a quick shudder to the man. This goes on for about half a minute longer before she decides it is not close to adequate, needing to feel more of him. 

His shirt is yanked upward, coming off with simplicity and lazily thrown away, landing in the usual spot. With that burden gone, she waits for the same to be done to her, to release the tension and once again be naked in each other’s company. Holden inherently obeys that wish, reaching to begin work on the laces making sure her top stays together, the only thing preventing him from seeing that body he loved so much.

The knot is undone, in no hurry, and the shirt is pulled over her head and dropped lightly. Hands return to her waist, regaining that careful hold he previously kept. Some part of his conscious mind is convincing him not to rush, to take his time with everything. He doesn’t move immediately to undo her bra, just staying right where he is. 

It doesn’t make sense to him.  
Then he looks at her face.

Thousands of ideas flood over him, giving him so much information to process. The short journey over here had allowed Holden to ponder those thoughts he was having earlier, about the unfortunate transformation their intimacy had undergone. Notions had not seeped out from his peripheral even after he stepped into her house and saw her, not even when she dragged him into the bed and climbed atop him, locking lips.

He realizes right then and there that the reality of him no longer having to pretend to revel in their hook-ups went beyond just the sex. It was deeper than mere satisfaction with how they fucked one another, far beyond that. 

Holden Edevane enjoyed her company. 

He missed the times when she teased him because it was a legitimate source of entertainment. Those smiles were brought out because the things they were in response to had the power to make him happy. He waited for [Y/N] to send him notes with eagerness, not at the prospect of another round of sex, but at the chance to be with her again, someone who he found pleasure in being around. She made jokes at his expense, and never failed to insult something about his personality, but she always seemed to do it with a grin on her face, signaling less than malicious intentions. She was too clever for her own good, a trait he had been aware of since Hogwarts, apparent by the way she had all the answers to all the questions. He had always scoffed at that, labeled her a pretentious know-it-all. From there came all the other traits he claimed to despise: her voice and the manner with which she spoke to people. That was laughable now, almost painfully, ridiculously ironic. It was her tone and quick wit that he wanted back now; five years ago he would have laughed at such a statement.

Childhood jealousy was the root of their rivalry. They had met as young eleven-year-olds and somehow found it rational to designate each other as mortal enemies. He was envious of her intelligence, knowing that he was second only to her, hating not being at the top, not being able to claim the prize. She was resentful from how easy it was for him to attract friends, even suitors, with that charming smile and gorgeous face. They had chosen such meaningless things to fixate on; those fixations never left them, left to fester into a thing reminiscent of a disease, polluting the environment both were a part of.

He never tried to fix it, so stuck in childish delusions that he never even wanted to try.  
The cost was substantial. 

She sits on top of him now, patiently waiting to move onto the next step, to proceed as usual, business as expected. He just stares at her eyes, taking them in, the personality that supplies their color, giving them life. [Y/N] can’t help but express confusion.  
“What?”

“I don’t wanna do this anymore.”

The confusion only grows. Eyebrows furrow and her head tilts to the side.  
“What do you mean, you don’t wan-”

“I’m tired of pretending that I hate you.”  
Admitting that out loud, a notion that had been unconscious for so many days, finally realized, was an enormous relief. It was as though he had held the weight of the world between his shoulders and that weight had at last been taken away, the burden removed. 

She is stunned, and rightfully so. Seconds pass before any visible reaction comes. When it does, her lips twitch at the corners, making initial attempts to fight back the urge to smile or even use her signature smirk. This fails. [Y/N] breaks into an amused grin, conjoined by a short burst of laughter. The girl assumes that this is a joke, but she is intelligent and observant enough to know that he is serious.  
“You don’t?”

Holden averts his eyes downward for a moment, biting his upper lip and suppressing an almost obnoxious smile.  
“I don’t think so.”

“You picked quite an interesting time to confess that.”  
Comments like those were the exact reason why he had come to this conclusion. He felt stupid for having not recognized for capacity for humor before, or at the bare minimum, ignoring it whenever it had been spotted.

It’s clear from the tone of her voice that [Y/N] is not yet persuaded by his words. Holden was bright enough to expect this, to not get hopes up for some fairytale reconciliation, for this girl to weep and tell him that she had always felt the same way about him, just being petrified to share, now inspired by his chivalrous bravery. That would be absurd. 

“You must think I’m mad.”

“Or a liar. That would be another reasonable guess,” She pauses and looks at him as her features soften, declaring, “But I don’t think either is true.”

“And what do you think about my truth then?”

“I’m not sure.”  
Stumping her with a question was strange to witness. 

Holden moves his hands up to hold her face, a bold move, though it feels absolutely right. Thumbs move over her cheekbones, fingertips daintily rested just beneath her jaw. The way he looks at her now is more comfortable than ever before, assisted by the knowledge that everything is out in the open, no more gargantuan secrets creating a barricade between the two. There is no shame in the method by which he observes her irresistible beauty, ceaselessly noticed by him before, better cherished now.

He gets an idea.  
“Tell you what. I propose that we finish what we have started here, and then I take you out on a date. We can talk there, and I can explain everything, see what all this means. Does that sound like an acceptable idea?”

To his surprise, she nods.  
“Alright. As long as you’re buying.”

They share a laugh together. Holden leans forward and kisses her again. He presses her down onto the mattress, with little force, just bringing her down to a level appropriate for their plans. [Y/N] wraps her arms around his neck, legs coming up closer to her body, sloped against his body as if holding him protectively.

An interruption of the kiss comes to fruition. Holden and [Y/N] decline to move, simply thriving off the feeling gained as they lock eyes, becoming lost in those beautiful hues, wanting nothing more than to remain like this.  
They were so blissfully unaware of what the future held, and in that moment, they didn’t care. They were horribly confused, reeling from shock. None of it mattered.

Holden could not possibly predict how she was feeling. That would have to be uncovered in the evening, with wine glasses in hand, their first proper conversation in over ten years. He was nervous.

[Y/N] needed time to process what she had heard. Life suddenly felt so much more chaotic, as if all the things that were steady just one hour ago had been turned upside down. She was cautiously enthusiastic, ready to hear everything he had to share with her, an explanation behind his thoughts.

All they knew for sure was that hatred was no longer an option.  
This would be so much better.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, hopefully, that was pretty good for you and that you enjoyed it!!! as always, my twitter is @96sDICAPRIO, and that's where I'm always active and constantly posting about my writing!!! :))


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